A move this year from the Victoria Halls to the Kings Theatre, and it has to be said that the latter is a more suitable theatrical venue for the show. The Regent – an odd, huge, plain, orange cube in the middle of an unhappy part of town – is glorious inside, and boasts a delightful in-house crew (many of whom we knew from the Victoria Halls). The shows were good fun, Tuesday’s being probably the best; audiences were lively and delightful. Repeated disruption on one night from some strange and intoxicated character in the stalls, but he eventually stopped after a telling-off. Wednesday brought a wonderful respite: I spent the day sat in the lovely grounds of our hotel, reading and relaxing. Bliss.
Thursday morning was an early start to Glasgow. Somehow that early start, the drive, Glasgow’s beautiful but sweltering Kings Theatre, last night’s show and concomitant late night have left me with a bad throat this morning. This is always a worry: I have taken the appropriate medication but will have to bow out of signings again until it gets better. I hope any of you coming will understand. Luckily, I have a little sunny break coming up which will, I hope, sort me out.
For any of you wondering, the final DB Investigates doc does not indeed air not this Monday as you might have had every reason to expect, but in fact the following Monday, due, I understand, to a clash with the football on the other side and a live Davina extravaganza being aired on 4. This is not a bad thing: it extends an otherwise very short series, and might fool you into thinking that there were more than three episodes. (The docs have been made in my ‘spare’ time over the last eighteen months, hence there only being three. Hopefully, I will do more, and we’ll schedule time for a full series of six. Or ‘a thousand’ has a nice ring to it).
Ah, Jeff Buckley’s recording of Â Allelujah has just started playing in this bar. A great version. As is Rufus Wainwright’s, sadly only available on the Shrek album, but whaddyagonnado.
Last night here was a terrific Glasgow crowd, always a huge treat. It’s VERY hot in there. Hotter than the sweat-box in the Pasedena County Women’s Prison. Backstage too: my dressing room is as roasting and airless as the auditorium. Of course, it’s twice as hot on stage under the lights, though I don’t get a chance to notice it. But be warned: dress skimpily.